


The Proposal

by Ivecygnus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring John, Caring Sherlock Holmes, Doctor John Watson, Domestic Fluff, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sex, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Mystery, Past Relationship(s), Reconciliation, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivecygnus/pseuds/Ivecygnus
Summary: Sherlock proposes to John.John doesn't want to get married.Reconciliation isn't on Sherlock's list and John is trying to somehow keep the scales balanced and communicate it through. Meanwhile Sherlock is given a case which may bring demons from the past.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	The Proposal

A few years back when Sherlock still hasn’t had the chance to get to know John better, he’d dismissively refuse talking or having any interactions with the doctor. Nowadays, this ‘pompous git’ as his brother Mycroft would say, turned into the most amicable human in terms of love. Today wasn’t an exception as John limped by himself to the crime scene, which his lover addressed in a text.

Without second-guessing his partner’s request, John grabbed his cane and his second-hand boots before storming to where Sherlock was, just to find his lanky lover solving something like amateurish rebus through the blue electricity vibrating in his eyes, peering from the softest shadows of his hat. 

John was ready to see everything—he’s heard a nasty rumour about a man committing a homicide in Herald North, but it wasn’t until now that he sensed something was awry. Blood and gore was his bread and butter, he wasn’t fazed by the scene itself, but by Sherlock’s reaction and unfathomable smile. Lestrade was looking into an incorrectly parked cab and Sherlock’s grin was already playing at the corner of his lips—only the man who shared a bed with him knew how ambiguous and spooky this grimace is.

“I hope you aren’t getting some crazy ideas.”

“It’s nice to see you again,” Sherlock says in ever-so-slightly supercilious tone.

“Seeing me again?” he looked around to make sure nobody will hear, “Sherlock, I buttered you a toast for breakfast and in order to drive me up the wall, you decided to leave for this ever so important case!”

Sherlock’s hands clasped together and gawked at the elder with empathy—then with equal strain of hesitation he recoiled backwards, seizing John’s outfit.

“I can’t restrict people from dying in time, but you aren't really mad at me for this, right?” then, he suddenly corrected himself, “Pardon, you _aren’t _mad at me. Your collar isn’t perfectly around your jacket and your belt isn’t fastened properly, also your hands still smell like the dish washer, for someone mad, you came to assist me pretty quickly.”__

__He loves doing that more than beguiling victims of untrained mentality into the police’s hands and now as he gave the other a once-over, he took off his gloves and caught a sight of his grumpy doctor who’s been sweet enough not to mix his chemical powders and substances in his breakfast plate. He reeks of despair and his hands itch to bury themselves into John’s hair. Maybe tuck oxlips behind his ear and create a bedazzling garden of John’s steadily greying hair and a bunch of flowers, stars and kisses._ _

__In contrast to Sherlock’s eyes—John’s are _changing._ The same way Pluto’s surface shifts between fascinating shades—mucky or metallic. This cloudless abyss is arbitrary and savage, holding on to a battlefield he’s facing each and every time Mrs Hudson’s pictures of her husband’s military years shoot out of the glazed photos. A plague forming at the closest and furthest point of his patience and all of this was behind those voiceless orbs._ _

__“Please, try to admit you are guilty this time and repay for your unkind absence by going on dinner with me!”_ _

__“Guilty? Oh Jawn, my mighty judge!”_ _

__Sherlock’s arms wrapped themselves around John’s jacket in order to return his favour—he’s mindful of rapid movements, although he would love to steal his gun away or to kiss the nape of his neck. The bergamot cologne with balsamic and warm undertones is right in front of Sherlock’s nose and he sniffs as if John is a territory he once claimed. _“Once”,_ as a matter of fact, meant last night. And every second Sunday when he isn’t analyzing a case._ _

__“Sherlock! What the hell, people around stank like conservatism!” with annoyed click of his tongue, Sherlock hugs him again and height is the biggest retribution to the poor soldier—everyone would be caught off guard by Sherlock’s incredibly long legs and heavy arms. In this situation particularly, he resembled a chandelier hanged from runny ceiling, “Sherlock, if you don’t stop acting like damsel in distress, I’m cutting off your weekly allowance of playing with my pistol.”_ _

__“As long as you don’t cut off from my Sunday bliss, I’m not complaining,” John is tempted to physically overpower him now that Sherlock has almost knelt in order to see make direct eye contact. The trepidation is sharpened to the maximum like violin strings snapping._ _

__With a final push, John manages to gently put his boyfriend away for a minute._ _

__“So, what is my task in here? Where is the body?”_ _

__“Oh, there isn’t a body.”_ _

__“If you’ve got everything handled, why would you call me then? Just to keep you company?”_ _

__“No, I need you John,” the elder awaits Sherlock to elaborate. “I’ll be exuberant and sour even at moment like this, because I don’t know how to convey my feelings in a better way. Thought inexperienced, I’m a man and as one yourself, you know what borders humans cross when it comes to their beloved clauses,” he casually kissed John’s cheek in restraint way and if it wasn’t for the closure, John wouldn’t have felt Sherlock’s clammy hands, causing an earthquake in his whole body._ _

__“Sherlock, are you okay? We are in the middle of a crime scene!”_ _

__“I know,” he then lowers himself and _oh god,_ John realizes where this is going, although in slow-motion and painstakingly quick at the same time, John knew exactly what this meant. “John, will you marry me?”_ _

__Then Lestrade passed out._ _

__

__////_ _

__

__Sherlock couldn’t endure this great ordeal for longer than an hour—normally he’s the last to complain about placidness, besides when it is John’s mouth that is sewed. He loved John to pieces, today’s gesture should have proved so, excluding the fiasco inspector “Graham” raised back at the crime scene. The only way to convey his grievous rage was to pace around the armchair and the recently cleared hearth, waiting for John to compromise and have a human conversation with him._ _

__The day disintegrates into a fatal evening. Not a sign of wakefulness comes from the parallel room and just when Sherlock went out of his hypnosis, John rushed into the room. By Sherlock’s confusion he decides that the detective is almost clueless what the core problem is and he instantly regrets throwing his boyfriend into the tartar of his loathe._ _

__“Do you have something to tell me?” if Sherlock is honest is behaves well, he may reconsider and talk it through. However, he isn’t._ _

__“Well, a thirty-years-old woman was travelling in the cab to her belated wedding ceremony when a group of men forcefully sieged her out of the cab leaving us the ceremonial veil and a little note saying _‘1805’_ " transfixed over the piece of paper lying like a lifeless paper seagull in his huge palm, Sherlock ignores the way John’s jaw clenches so tightly he could clearly hear the grading of his molars._ _

__“That’s it?”_ _

__“What is to be added? You saw it yourself John, the driver is in utter shock and there is no other evidence. The chance of her sabotaging her own marriage is unlikely. Mycroft already did a research for me, the husband’s family is too obvious to even be taken under suspicion,” he sips from the British brandy straight into his throat and John is quick to yank it off his hands, “John?”_ _

__“You think I haven’t noticed?”_ _

__Sherlock’s soul is highly evolved with dormant wisdom, apollonian appearance, exuding confidence and pragmatic mind. He’s so brilliant it was impossible for John to resist those lips being licked by his limber tongue, to divide a pill and drink into the ecstasy of two. Yet, he couldn't accept marriage proposal happening out of the blue!_ _

__Sherlock’s coat is billowing over the carped, face pallid and stuck in wonderment. One of the things the doctor was quick to understand is that even-tempered men are sometimes callous, honest people get walked on and suave souls sometimes can't disagree. Out of all disadvantages weighting in blessings, Sherlock has the worst—a vow of an angel who could vocalise the evil. After another moment of silence John feels obligated to talk to him, although Sherlock’s reactions are quite delayed._ _

__“We’ve always agreed on talking it out, haven’t we? If you really want us to be against the world, we need to discuss things together.”_ _

__Sherlock’s smile vanishes at the romantic remark—a breath away from fitting their lips together and pander to John’s carnal infatuation. Admittedly, he didn’t pick the most appropriate timing for this, but who blames this magnificent man for being halt in love? After passing his thirties, Sherlock developed a constant worry about running after criminals, let alone John who is even older than him. Soon their thrill will deflate and all of this heroism will be settled in the armchair, with a pair of matching canes and laptop in his lap and Sherlock knows when those days come, when he can no longer serve John’s dosage of epinephrine with the morning coffee. He will need to find another method of expressing his affection._ _

__Sherlock concluded it could only be staunch protection and commitment._ _

__This answer came after Mrs Hudson lectured him over the virtues of marriage and how a piece of paper could have so much significance into one’s sense of freedom and support. Sherlock was fastidious for John’s perspective and even if he claimed marriage was huge misunderstanding, he fought the thought of John encouraging the idea of them getting married. At least that’s what he thought when John proposed Mary, or maybe she has inflicted some fractures and fears that couldn’t be patched up?_ _

__The mere idea brought repugnance—he’s wishing for mound and pain over her feigned halo, he’s hoping that everyone who ever even considered maltreating John to live through half of the hell he’s been put through. Sherlock just wanted to make a room for unaltered connection and per usual, he’s disappointed the man he loved the most._ _

__He expands his views and looks at the bigger picture—now John is kneeling by his side, rubbing his knees with sympathy and unyielding eyes. He knew Sherlock had a thing for their notable height difference, that’s why he settles peacefully between Sherlock’s knees and expects a dozen of kisses from his favourite human._ _

__“I know it isn’t easy for you love,” he murmurs and Sherlock nodded, “it isn’t easy for me either, I arrived at a crime scene without even finishing my drink because I had no idea what I’m going to see and in the middle of a tragic event, you decided to propose me, Sherlock!”_ _

__Now saying it, John’s lips quirked up in a smile—for a bright man, Sherlock was sometimes so silly and unpredictable._ _

__“You and Mary married before,” he croaks as if tears were about to shed from his eyes and John quickly cups his face, making unbreakable eye contact. He had to make sure Sherlock isn’t lying, because if he truly isn’t, then John is probably dreaming._ _

__“Love, I’m past this phase of my life and she is no longer around to put us in some awful situations. I wouldn’t let anything get in the way of what we have,” Sherlock pecked his fingers. His heart seriously belonged out of his chest, pounding away into an embrace he was never meant to leave. “Do you feel secure with me?”_ _

__“Of course, isn’t that why I proposed? Isn't that why people propose?”_ _

__“You tell me.”_ _

__“John, we are nothing but a flash in time,” gingerly, John nodded, “seeing beauty propels us to killing and then we wear this flashiness with pride. People’s uncharitable behaviour arose out of superiority issues and I’m working with such individuals, I’m leaded by such too and at some point I stopped contemplating who is better and who is right, because it was no longer my task to be in charge. I meet conceited people every day and save their lives, though it rarely stops them from outliving their own integrity. When death comes to knock on their door, with dread it realizes they’ve been empty before it arrives,” finally his fist unclenched, “being human since I've met you has been a privilege because you still have a soul, one endearing and gleaming heart which helps mine beat when I hear that knocking on the door,” John’s eyes widened, “you being my husband is the only thing I’ll ever do to my own happiness, for once in my life I’m willing to earn something which is as temporary as me so it can stay with me this whole lifetime.”_ _

__This monologue could labyrinthine into more affirmations by John who would try to rebut every negative word Sherlock is saying about himself, but knowing how unyielding his lover is once convinced, he swallowed the following words in a kiss._ _

__“John,” such a dearnful kiss—John abandons his selfhood and kisses into the reason he’s right today, the reason why he isn’t comparing himself with anyone, but becoming a better person. The rapture of a single kiss pervades his senses and despite being speechless, Sherlock still isn’t breathless and ready to kiss back again and again._ _

__“I’m a simple man,” he litters some kisses around the tussle of curls, “say all of this in English, please.”_ _

__Sherlock signed and chuckled sheepishly knowing John wouldn’t judge this smile—he wouldn’t say a thing against his dishevelled hair, unshaved stubble or runny nose. Leaving disparaging scars over John’s heart was something he would never forgive—even if it was done by someone John loved, even if it was done by _him._ He wanted to fix everything before it has even happened. His hands shudder against John’s face and there is a pair of shrewd, exceedingly luminescent and gentle eyes comforting him. He laughs in paranoia, in relief and every feeling only John could invoke. Sherlock is no longer as strong—losing, limping over to receive the love he never felt entitled to have._ _

__“I love you.”_ _

__“Good,” John breaths close to his face as their teeth clank together in a kiss and John almost groans at the itch he couldn’t suppress. “I love you more.”_ _

__“No. I do, because I proposed first!”_ _

__“Silly baby,” he preps kisses around Sherlock’s droopy eyes, “stop dissociating, darling. We’ll continue this conversation in the bathroom.”_ _

__“Wait, what are we doing in the bathroom?”_ _

__“We’ll first pass to the bedroom.”_ _

__In the idle, late-autumn afternoon both Sherlock and John have settled over the tufted sofa. Everything hinting for the intense scene a while ago was meticulously put back in order by Sherlock’s impeccable sense of tidiness—even if a murder happened in this room, he would have concealed every remaining spot before the police could even prepare. In the spur of unresolved questions both he and John subdued this scruffy flat, claiming every spot of the spacious bedroom. The scent of hormones and sex is fresh around the tips of John’s fingers, lazily turning pages of a book he found by the cluster under the window._ _

__Sherlock never faulted John's performance even onceーwith avidity and ardor, the detective's masquerade is ruined by a benignant hand. London flaunts Sherlock's accomplishments unaware of this ever so paradoxical and funny viewーSherlock's grunts are muffled in the pillow as John pounds into the bliss of his feathery thighs. His words are incomplete, hassled and sultry, keening against John's skin._ _

__There are no laws in love and war._ _

__On the other hand, John's eyes never ridiculed this rare vulnerable state the younger was in, the malleable touches dropped by his sacrum were forgotten oaths, like hot wax sticking to his skin and spreading over his body uncontrollably. Overindulgence. Being slain by your own hunger. Sweetness of two upon a rotten world like oursーstring of two tongues enjoying the adventure of saving a life. In his fair amount of intimate affairs, John Watson never urged himself to rut over someone's skin and then laugh._ _

___Yes,_ a contagious grin would tingle in his belly along with rawness and arousal, making his lover chuckle and kiss over his forearms, languidly fucking until the sunrise doesn't greet from east. With tender possessiveness Sherlock would offer to switch and go on like this until shower isn't necessary or until someone doesn't break into the apartment. _ _

__At present, Sherlock was looking at his phone without giving him much reaction, but John knew he was comfortable just scanning his relaxed face, rested over his lap. The second he left Sherlock’s form without admiring its beauty, the younger quickly riffled his hair, nuzzling into John’s clothes, and he just gently pet the younger's hair without sparing him a glance._ _

__Occasionally, he would stroke Sherlock’s neck feeling the mere _tap tap_ of his pulse right over his carotid artery, using his other one to comb Sherlock’s outgrown hair and lovingly poke the corners of his mouth—he isn’t sure if Sherlock isn’t sneakily taking his own shampoo in order to smell like him, but surely, his hair hasn’t been touched by the summer’s horridness. It’s frizzy, silky and tousled. He grins to himself in utter admiration, how could a man not compete for Sherlock’s attention? He’s the sweetest boy, _his boy.__ _

__“John, stop looking as if you’ll lick my face.”_ _

__“I’m sorry love, did you say something?”_ _

__“Nothing, ” Sherlock signed before John didn’t tug on his arm, hands connecting in a shell over Sherlock’s ribcage. “Well, I’ve been thinking...That your hand fits so well in mine and I...” he swallows, “I really like holding it.”_ _

__“Oh Sherlock, you got the wrong size of the wedding ring, right?”_ _

__“Jawn! How would you know!” he flipped himself to cross his legs beneath his body and bounce over the couch as John laughed wryly at the younger’s mortified expression. To his chagrin, Sherlock’s grimace grew unsound and John felt those encrusted crystals giving him a palpable sense of losing this game. Sherlock is always the one to laugh last. Then his laugher died down when Sherlock started laughing and in a sense, he will always be the one to laugh at the end._ _

__Having some grim days back as a soldier, John knew a few vital points in Sherlock’s anatomy that will make him prevail. He leaps over Sherlock, tickling the side of his ribs._ _

__“We fear you, soldier!” Sherlock barely catches his breath while laughing, but it appears that John is clinging to him like a tick, adamantly tickling his sides and Sherlock cannot name one tactic at this moment, which would successfully separate him from the other. “We fear you mightily! Oh, please!”_ _

__A few seconds passed so John could proceed the last, delicate beg and turn to Sherlock face-to-face, holding his hands so he wouldn’t run to Mrs Hudson, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. He gradually calms down, chest heaving up and down with camouflaged anticipation—when it comes to tickling, Sherlock is a total fraud! When John thought to have taken the string out of Sherlock’s impertinence, the other jumped over his back and tackled him in a mess of limbs and obscenities._ _

__“Sher—!”_ _

__“Locked!” he yells making a lock of John’s arms and legs, enough to prevent him from overpowering him. “Darling, this is called ‘the lock’, takes down an opponent faster than Anderson’s nonsense!”_ _

__“Sherlock! Let me go immediately!”_ _

__“In your craziest dreams.”_ _

__“Sherlock!” this one was harsher—maybe Sherlock really did yank his chain? Not harsh enough to intimidate him, howbeit._ _

__“Beg.”_ _

__“I’ll make you beg harder tonight if you don’t let me go on instant!”_ _

___That clicked._ John’s muscles relaxed and flexed once again as they were suddenly released by Sherlock’s hold. He wriggles out of the silly wrestle, meanwhile Sherlock was pushing his arm sideways and using his dominant hand to press over his clavicles. Not higher or shorter—that’s a playful fight after all, he wouldn’t dare practicing real techniques over his precious, though quite inflexible soldier._ _

__“Okay,” he pecks John’s temples, “sorry if I overdid it, I’ll make honeyed ginger milk and bring your favourite cable-knit jumper.”_ _

__John smirks—always in the same nonplussing manner. He likes it when things go his way. With Sherlock, however, this rarely ever happens. By the time he returns to the other room, circling the kitchen island, there is everything Sherlock promised to bring him, beside Sherlock himself._ _

__

__////_ _

__

__Heedless of the suspicious crowd, John found a bar stool at the dark corner of this sleazy place. Dawdling over the glass of cider, flavoured as bourbon and repentant tears, John had no idea why Sherlock left their nest once again. At once, he experienced disappointment, furious enough to thunder through his system and make him come in here and get wasted. On the other hand, he was worried out of his mind where his Sherlock could be. _Safe or abducted? Drugged in a trench?_ Everything could happen. He isn’t to lose him again. Maybe he was mad about John’s vague opinion on marriage? He let it slip too fast—Sherlock would never let it slip so fast. _ _

__“Good evening, Doctor Watson.”_ _

__He was startled by the cool tone—when he turned and focused properly, he saw Mycroft in one of those quant costumes which made him look like a traitor of the queen. His perfectly groomed eyebrows furrowed._ _

__“Mycroft, you definitely don’t fit in the picture.” _Am I hallucinating?__ _

__“I’d say the same about you,” he raises a hand to catch the bartender’s attention, “for your misfortune, I’m as real as your hangover tomorrow and I’m very displeased to see you getting wasted while my brother needs you.”_ _

__John tilted his head. “Sherlock has never needed anyone else but himself.”_ _

__“Bold of you to make such statement when you have no idea where he is.”_ _

__“Mycroft,” John deadpanned, “where is my Sherlock?”_ _

__“Why do you ask me as if I know?”_ _

__“Mycroft, I have fifteen objects including the bartender close enough to use as a makeshift weapon, do not test me,” molten anger has rolled through this collected scowl—Mycroft smiles at the stab of resentment, bringing his hands together. “Where is he? Is this because of the stupid wedding?”_ _

__Mycroft’s high forehead wrinkled for a brief moment before he shrugged._ _

__“Which one?” Panic seized him—he’s tip-toeing on eggshells and falling backwards into the bottomless glass. With or without fogged mind he awaits for an opportunity to grab a taxi and find where he belongs. He’s ready to a take a drink of this promised body, Sherlock’s body is a land of everything enchanting and he has never been so ready to face it. _Yes idiot, I’ll marry you!__ _

__“What do you mean by that?”_ _

__“The wedding he planned, the one which actually happened, or the one which couldn’t happen?”_ _

__He analyzes—which is which? The wedding which didn’t happen was most likely theirs, the one which he planned was maybe the one connected to the victim from today? Wasn’t she kidnapped? _No._ This is one preposterous disarray. John crosses his initial guesses and bends forwards so Mycroft’s eyes could hint for the correct answer._ _

__“He is working on the case from today, isn’t he?”_ _

__“Brilliant. You never fail to underwhelm me, doc,” John is crossed again, “My brother is not very bright,” his fists clenched, “the type of intelligence he possesses may be delectable at first, he is a famous attraction in London, isn’t he? While all his logic is undeniably superior, it’s just as impractical in life. See, nobody would ever recognise him if it wasn’t for your social intelligence.”_ _

__The last signs of patience were obliterated from John's virile faceーif Mycroft aims to flatter him than he is getting the complete opposite! John is in fact worried and faint; swarthy and vulpine look hovering upon Sherlock's discerned, thin figure? Moon-round eyes prying for his blood, horns poking from his gausy hair? Danger seeking for him?_ _

__John isn't allowing this to happen ever._ _

__Sherlock away from safety, away from Baker street wasn't right. Sherlock away from his languid morning hold, dangers and his altered feelings after he's win over his heart. _No._ The cane clangedーMycroft's silhouette flang across the shrilly place. _ _

__He stood lest he provokes John's anger further._ _

__"Mycroft," gravelly he admonished, "is Sherlock attending a wedding today of which I'm uninvited?"_ _

__"Close. Shall we say he is preventing one which never happened as it should?"_ _

__"Tell me," in vain, he begged to know more, "otherwise you'll come across a version of me few are aware of. If Sherlock, _my_ Sherlock isn't at home by the time I return, the whole government will grieve over you." _ _

__As appealed for, Mycroft confides._ _

__"Sherlock is playing on this address," he types a text, "in less than fifteen minutes he'll be abducted by a herd of privite agents, drugged and whatnot. I can't wager what are his intentions, but you can go see yourself."_ _

__His face paled; Mycroft is definitely volunteering to get a sturdy punch in his nose or a thwack over a major nerve._ _

__"Don't you dareー"_ _

__"Sherlock offered this himself," he slided a card across the table._ _

__John doesn't waste a moment._ _

__

__////_ _

__

__With loud whiz, John glides in the static darkness; feral and inadequate, ready for the combat fight of his lifetime. Weapons take unique yet petrifying form, the carbine is now bare fists and the shouts are haunting a dustless battleground with embalmed memories of the tragedy. Mycroft was such a skinflint with all the information—as if it was something enigmatic John had to find himself, but was he ready to open the Pandora’s box? Neither physically nor mentally was the ex-soldier prepared for what he is sprinting towards. He abides Mycroft’s commands and expects some divine intervention and if Sherlock is harmed the second he arrives there, he may tear even the divine to pieces._ _

__Truth transcends illusionsーhe is ready to see the man who won over death by dying. Who was planted in nightmares, long and reoccurring, showing all the emptiness of before the creation and after the apocalypse._ _

___He hears a pitter-patter, bullets and dying smiles._ _ _

__He runs past Wheatley street and the Harborview park where he finally stopped this relentless chase and turned to St. Peter library as he heard an empty melody swirling by his ears. Devoid of any fickleness; orchestral triumph culminating upon final notes as he prays with every single cell of this barrelled heart to find the human meant to possess it out of any touch with danger._ _

__John owed him this little much—a heart studded with evocative treads of neglected stitches, a wound in deeper than his body had the perception to scope. The reappearance of grenade erupting in raucous warlike noises, copper bullets mushrooming and ricocheting from the useless vest and all he could do is to scream from the top of his lungs; to shamelessly try and summon salvation._ _

___“Get down!”_ _ _

__“Sherlock!”_ _

__Who knew wars had a magnetic name like this one—rolling with exultation and victory and most importantly it’s his, his win and lose, the scariest and sweetest one he may never get to see._ _

__“Sherlock!” out of existential panic the words are forced out of his throat as if with scythe._ _

__Sherlock is a marble statue of waxed beauty and unbeatable confidence, standing beside a tight circle of newly painted benches, playing a melody over his violin. John is still unsure if he really made it on time, but judging by the little family applauding enthusiastically and the old woman wiping her tears, he’s definitely out of any potential danger._ _

___Then anger came._ Why does he always do such foolish things?_ _

__“Sherlock,” he turns and grabs John’s hand._ _

__“As soon as those bystanders pass someone will shoot at us, get going!”_ _

__Sherlock doesn’t even finish his thought before an unmistakable and quite distinguishable sound of an airsoft sniper fired at them. As precise as a Swiss clock, Sherlock pulls the other behind a container which seems to be an alternative shelter while John is contemplating how to murder him. There is an iron security door right in front of them, leading to the houses’ entrance. In a pant, John peers from behind the containedrs just to get another bullet and Sherlock’s aggressive yanks him towards the centre._ _

__“Goodness, Sherlock!” exclaimed John. ”If you aren’t to tell me everything now, I’ll personally kill you and Mycroft!”_ _

__“How dramatic,” Sherlock rolled his eyes as the elder brought him closer by the collar._ _

__“I warned you, Sherlock! He can shoot the hell out of you and I won’t even blink!”_ _

__“You didn’t blink when I returned from my two years status of being ‘dead’ and broke my nose so I totally believe you,” he rambles with well-remembered equilibrium, “let go of my collar now, leave the choking ritual to our honeymoon evenings.”_ _

__He doesn’t do himself a favour._ _

__“You are digging your own grave,” he rapidly inhales close to the detective’s ear and he's on the verge of dropping one of those ever-so-clichéd jokes about John’s height at this situation, but he preserves some self-control and explains thoroughly._ _

__“Do you remember this, John?” he pulls the _'1805’ _note from the last case.___ _

____“From the last case.”_ _ _ _

____“Exactly. The woman wasn’t kidnapped because she did something, it was a warning for us.”_ _ _ _

____“Us?”_ _ _ _

____“Two days before the case I was at the local wedding agency with Mycroft and arranging our marriage ceremony,” John was stumped, sweaty back resting against the container, “I even convinced Lestrade and Molly to be our ring-bearers! How pitiful I felt when I saw that the agent who was asked to assist us was one of Mary’s hounds.”_ _ _ _

____“Sherlock, what does my ex-wife, who is in prison, has to do with the kidnapped bride?”_ _ _ _

____“Not with the kidnapped bride, but with us,” Sherlock smirked, “Remember Mary was an ex-assassin and hence she has many relations to people who worked with her during some special missions. One of those people was exactly the man who assisted us. It is likely that he is in probation, but still interacting with your dear ex-wife,” another bullet fell, hitting the plastic material of the container, causing them to flinch._ _ _ _

____“So, a man who has connection to my ex-wife eavesdropped about our wedding and informed her?”_ _ _ _

____“Oh darling, for the first time I hear you speak correct things!”_ _ _ _

____“I’ll—”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, kill me. To elaborate, she had her people out of jail who could easily kidnap the girl from her wedding, it was a bride that was taken away, a massage to our future mingling.”_ _ _ _

____“How would you know the bride is connected to us?”_ _ _ _

____“When was the day you married Mary?”_ _ _ _

____“The 18th of May?”_ _ _ _

____“What did the note in the cab say?”_ _ _ _

____“1805.”_ _ _ _

____“Figure the rest yourself.”_ _ _ _

____John wished to scamper directly to jail, get her eyeballs in a jar and end this preposterous war. Leaning to Sherlock’s shoulder he signed and took his gloved hand in his own, thumbing the delicate skin of his wrist in guilt and wariness. It’s affectionate and intimate. Sherlock does kiss his forehead and John’s hair tickles the nape of his neck as he bends forward to kiss his shoulders more._ _ _ _

____“Then?”_ _ _ _

____“When I figured out the note left at the cab was the date of your marriage I informed Mycroft so he could use his informant mercenary and find the spoken man who leaked the information. I still arranged the wedding and in order to prove the man’s guilt I gave him this sheet of music I composed myself for the ceremony and announced I play here as a street musician from time to time. If he really was one of Mary’s people, he would come today.”_ _ _ _

____“So the man shooting at us is this man?”_ _ _ _

____“Worse. Could be Mary herself, but worry not, Mycroft has control over all street cameras and another sniper is up this building, the people you saw earlier are not just bystanders, one of them is a protégé of Mycroft’s and lives in the building in front of us. I told them to give us fifteen minutes, now she will come and open the iron security door for us. Mycroft’s sniper will handle this one as soon as we get in there, the police won’t have time to react.”_ _ _ _

____“Why fifteen minutes?”_ _ _ _

____“So I could have enough time to confess my love for you, you lame-brained dunce!”_ _ _ _

____Another bullet fell close to Sherlock’s side as they crumpled in the middle; only a minute and the lady will come and open the gate. Enough for a kiss—quick and unsophisticated. Sherlock kisses John and John kisses Sherlock’s runny nose in a playful laughter, adrenaline still pumping through their veins._ _ _ _

____“You composed the song for me?”_ _ _ _

____“Are you touched? My little romantic soldier!”_ _ _ _

____“I’m traumatized!” Sherlock sulked. “Touched too. You’ll be drunk, loved, bitten and kissed tonight as well. Oh for a genius you are pretty clueless Sherlock.”_ _ _ _

____“Why?”_ _ _ _

____“Because I wanted to propose you and you thwarted my plans!"_ _ _ _

____In the acceleration of this unending paddlewheel, Sherlock and John almost missed the old woman who opened the door with nimble, urgent hands. Mycroft’s men have luckily proceed to sprint into action and take all the snipers down—Mary’s afterthought of this incompetent war was Sherlock’s shrewdness. The man who died himself to win over death. The man who John would be dismally lost without. Charily, they entered the door, accompanied by siren intruding this usually peaceful area. How much trouble could Sherlock’s violin bring! How much obscurity and danger escaped John’s pedestal—Sherlock was his highness, his to love today and his to do everything one simple human was meant to do in this life._ _ _ _

____Because unlike many others, this nameless detective had a heart._ _ _ _

____“Let’s get you out of here,” John says fondly and drops a furry of kisses around Sherlock’s face; at least to those that aren’t covered in mud and sweat, “you are really the only thing I could despise and adore as much.”_ _ _ _

_____“Oh.”_ _ _ _ _

____Sherlock pulls away from John’s embrace, levelling his chin up before taking off his glove with bare teeth—the excessive desire to touch him never faded through the years and John could only hold back as many tears of warmth. He returns the gesture, wraps his hands like a woollen scarf in a loop around his neck, kissing over his lips, mirthfully smiling against shaken puffs Sherlock's exhales._ _ _ _

____Silly._ _ _ _

_____Silliest war I’ve seen._ _ _ _ _

____Like one of those postal telegrams he would receive from his family back in the unsettling days of war. Perhaps, Sherlock had his own polydrug bureau at high school by the time he crawled in sludge with half his wight on his back. He laughs and strokes the most narrow and prominent cheekbones he’s seen—mad and grateful, awake and alive._ _ _ _

____John latched on the idea of every glitter being gold, though Sherlock's molten shine had a price higher than caratage could measure. He did undergo a catharsis of his identityーmending all splintered joys of life and melting them over a candle-lit hug by the elder. Not every flame had the strength to go on and not every soldier had a detective to stand by his side._ _ _ _

____“You owe me a new coat then,” he cuddles closer, ”I can’t wait to hear why you hate me so I can deduce the reasons behind this.”_ _ _ _

____“Silly,” so silly and sweet, “I won’t waste my wrath on you if you become my husband, little one.”_ _ _ _

____Sherlock’s legs, as they were outstretched and relaxed, lurched and he looked at John with bewilderment. “So, it’s a yes?”_ _ _ _

____“No, no! Sherlock, I’m proposing to you! Agree!”_ _ _ _

____“No, I’m proposing to you!”_ _ _ _

____John signed. “At least tell me what was the veil for? Fancy detail?”_ _ _ _

____“A symbol of blindness, Mary thought I have no common sense to withdraw her stupidity from the facts. Rest assured, it failed and now we are free,” he reassures, stroking the length of John's backbone. “I’ll always keep you safe lest she is to harm our relationship. I’ve proven that over years and I have a lifetime ahead to make sure I remind you of so.”_ _ _ _

____John’s heart fluttered; he warbled sweet nothings and pulled Sherlock in a warm hug again, fidgeting with his hair, resting his nose against Sherlock’s. He’s a sweetheart and definitely begging to be cuddled tonight—away from London’s vanity, away from their past._ _ _ _

____“I’m not buying it love,” he mumbles a croon against Sherlock’s forehead, “you must repay me for the stress caused, darling. Also I want to do something for you and for us. I’d appreciate it if you could tell me what you'd like to do on Christmas for instance, and you will have it. It’s all going to be okay and I’ll be by your side, yes? And don’t run away like this, you like giving me a good scare.”_ _ _ _

____“John,” Sherlock mutters, looking at his wrist, “even if I enjoy this intimate moment of us exchanging cells, I’m afraid our wedding begins in fifteen minutes and we need to rush and call a cab. It’s alright! I got the bowties, we’ll undress on our way there! Meanwhile think about the honeymoon.”_ _ _ _

____John had no time to answer—after all, not all questions coming from the heart needed an answer, when it was an obvious _“Yes.”__ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :D
> 
> I wrote this one spontaneously, but the end result is better than I anticipated. Would anyone be interested in a continuation of this one? I'm not necessarily making it multi-chaptered, but I could consider series! My next story will be probably around Christmas as a token for every lovely human reading from my realm of discord xD
> 
> Anyway, comments and kudos are an awesome feedback and I appreciate them a lot! You can always find me on my Instagram which is @writer_ivecygnus
> 
> Have a wonderful day/evening!


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